


Worth the Risk

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lorelei - Freeform, Poison Ivy as a Siren, Rusalka, naiad, nymph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: You knew that the river was dangerous, that the Siren who lived there was dangerous....but you couldn't help yourself.





	Worth the Risk

**Author's Note:**

> This is an odd one.
> 
> I'm writing this for #MerMay and I have a weird fetish for Poison Ivy as a mermaid anyway.
> 
> So this is an AU with Ivy as an actual Siren, and written in 2nd person (because I never write that way and wanted to practice.)
> 
> I wrote it as though it was Harley's perspective, because in spite of all that's happened they're still my OTP, but honestly it's open enough you can insert whomever your favorite character to ship is with Ivy and still get the story, or even self insert (since it's 2nd person) if that's your thing. Hope you like it.

Your whole life they told you: “You mustn’t ever go down into the bottoms, near the river bend, where the water was cool and still, covered over in lily pads and heavy with the sleepy, seductive perfumes of the lotus blossoms. Never. For down there is where the Lorelei lived. The Siren. The Rusalka. The Lady of the Green Water, who seduced sailors on the river into tarrying with her, poisoning their ears with honeyed words and their lips with sinfully sweet kisses before dragging them down into the deep, dark water, never to be seen again.”

 

Some said she preyed on them, devouring their flesh like some sort of beautiful, watery ogre.

Others claimed she took the soul, keeping it with her in the cool, green depths, and that many thousands of souls glittered down there, trapped until some brave warrior could at last slay the monster and free them to go on to their final resting place.

Some said she didn’t kill her victims at all. She was a lonely river spirit, a Naiad--a water nymph who was seeking her soulmate, taking lovers in a vain attempt to find her other half. They said she was achingly beautiful, and that her songs were so sad and full of longing they would soften even the hardest heart, and to be taken as her lover was bliss...heaven...but ultimately she would give you up because you weren’t the one and you’d wither and die away, because after loving a Goddess, how could being a mere mortal compare? To become her lover was a death sentence.

Some said she wasn’t beautiful at all, that was an illusion, a glamour, and that she was actually a hideous hag, rail thin, with jagged, rotting teeth and green hair like lank, decaying sea weed. She lured sailors on the river to their deaths and then ate them, keeping the bones to crack for the marrow. If you were brave, or foolish, on the nights of the full moon if you crept close enough to the marshes you could the sound of bones cracking.

Your favorite story, by far, was told by your Uncle Bruce, who’d seen her and lived to tell the tale.

Bruce claimed she wasn’t evil at all, that she didn’t kill on purpose unless you were a polluter, or an abuser, or tried to despoil the green, growing things of the forest and marshes around the river. He said she had hair the color of fire and lips like blood, that she smelled sweeter than the roses near the forest edge and her voice was like the richest honey in your ears. He said she was lonely, and waiting for someone to find her.

He said to taste her kiss was to be lost...but worse...to be lost and never want to be found again.

You could no longer stand the legends and rumors. You resolved one night to find out.

You set out in the early afternoon. According to the legends, only by moonlight could you see her--hear her seductive song. The walk to the river wasn’t far, or strenuous, but your heart hammered in your chest nonetheless. You were nervous. Excited. Maybe a little afraid.

It is early evening when the steady downward slope begins to even out, the land becomes spongy and moist. The fields become woods, the grasses become tall reeds. Soon you’re in the cool shade, your feet sinking into luxurious moss. The buzz of insects contentedly going about their business is in your ears. The wind sighs through the heavy, low hanging Willow trees.

The shore of the river bend here is thick with green. Lily pads cover the surface of the cool water. You sit on an overturned log and gaze out to a small, lush island that breaks the sanctity of the surface of the water. It smells of good earth, honeysuckle and lotus, clean, fresh air. It’s all very...sensual.

The setting sun casts long shadows over everything, but you no longer feel afraid. You are lulled by the heavy perfumes of the flowers, the soft buzzing of insects, the chirping of frog song.

You’re not sure when, or how, or even for how long, but you doze.

You awaken and it’s dark. The night air is cool and rich with the sounds of life going about its business--insects, frogs, even the rustle of a deer, the cautious hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance. You feel a chill go up your spine, and not from the cold.

The moon is a brilliant silver eye casting soft light over everything, lighting the bend in the river in ghostly radiance.

You see her.

She is sitting on the island in the distance, her fins still partially in the water, but skin is pale, almost green. The legends were true, her hair is like fire, and she has it pulled over her shoulder in order to run a silver comb through those curls--curls that shine like burnished copper. You can see her bare shoulder and her lithe back--can see the sinuous curves of the mysterious lines of green running underneath her flawless skin. You cannot breathe--you are terrified to make any sound at all--terrified she’ll notice you--and you’re not sure if it's because you are afraid of her disappearing or of her coming closer.

She begins to sing.

By all the gods, the old gods, the new gods, the gods you worship, the gods you’ve never heard of, you’ve never heard a more beautiful sound. Her lips are sinfully red, the red of fresh blood, and in the silver moonlight they look almost black except for the moist sheen on them, and as they part you ache for them. 

Her voice is clear and pure, deep and primal. Her song is wordless but it speaks to that part of your brain that doesn’t need human speech. It’s a song of love and loss, longing and sacrifice, unfulfilled desire and endless passion. Your heart beats faster as you sit up, unable to stop yourself. Her cheeks are shiny with tears as she sings, and you feel your own eyes well up, an inescapable need to dry her tears, kiss away her loneliness.

You want…

No, you need…

More than anything else in your entire life…

You need to be hers, to make her happy, to belong to her, to submit to her will, to love and be loved from now until forever.

You love her. You’ve always loved her, and you feel your own tears tracking down your cheeks because it’s like a lifelong burden, an anxiety, a nagging doubt in your soul that has finally been lifted, like someone shining a light into an ever dark room.

They’re tears of joy, not sadness. There can be no sadness while you’re drinking her beauty in.

They’re tears of joy, not fear. How could you have ever been afraid of her? She needs you, she’s been waiting so long, and when she turns, her beautiful green eyes--a green so green you have no words for it, only a feeling in your heart that after seeing them nothing else will ever be _green_ again--you feel a full sob escape. Those beautiful lips--lips made for kissing, made for whispering dirty things in your ear when you are in her arms--curl up into a smile. Her eyes light up, as though she were seeing you for the first time, or maybe seeing you for the first time after a thousand year wait.

You are grinning, you can’t stop, and she slips into the water without a ripple. For the briefest of moments your heart freezes, and a wild, primal fear that she’s gone and you’ve lost her, you’ve lost everything, grips you. You crawl to the water’s edge, ready to dive in deep, swim as far as hell if need be, when she resurfaces., right in front of you, her fin churning the water behind her and her body displacing the lily pads, her hands on either side of you as she comes up between your legs.

You breathe only to smell the sweet scent of her damp curls. Your pulse is racing.

“You’ve finally come. I’ve waited so long.” Her voice is deep and husky, sweet and seductive, a voice that has haunted every dream you’ve ever had.

She raises one slender, perfect hand, tracing her fingertips down your cheek. Her skin is cool but so very soft. You lean into it, nearly closing your eyes in ecstasy. She never looks away, and you can’t tear your gaze away from hers, warm and inviting, sensuous and smoldering.

She leans forward, her gaze flickering down, until you are nose to nose, lips to lips with her.  
“Will you be mine? Will you kiss me?”

Every story runs through your head at once. It could all be a dream, a vision, a glamour. She could thirst for your blood or hunger for your soul

You’re not sure you care.

You’ve never heard the name but somehow you just know.

This is _Ivy._

She is _Poison._

But it’s worth the risk, isn’t it?

Do you kiss her?


End file.
